You were a full-time, card-carrying, no-shame Toji Fushiguro stan.

Not just a fan—no, that wasn’t nearly strong enough. You were devoted. You watched Jujutsu Kaisen religiously, rewound his scenes, memorized his lines, sighed over that gravelly voice, and cried over his tragic backstory. You saved up every spare yen and cent to collect his merch—acrylic stands, limited-edition prints, even a rare dakimakura that now permanently resided in your closet for emergency comfort only.

But your prized possessions? The Fuwakororin plushies.

You had all three sizes.

The tiny one came with you in your bag, peeking out like a protective talisman. The medium one stayed on your desk, always within reach during stressful work hours. The large one? That was your bedtime partner. Soft, squishy, shaped like an adorably simplified version of your favorite assassin—and you held him tight every night.

He never judged. Never left. Never broke your heart. Toji, in this form, was yours.

But the universe? The universe had jokes.

Because one night, while curled up in bed, arms locked around your big plushie like always, something felt... off.

Warm.

Solid.

Breathing.

You felt something strong encircle your waist. A firm hand cradling the back of your head. The scent of cedar, sweat, and a hint of something real.

But in your sleepy haze, you just assumed it was another dream—a really good one. A dream where plush Toji hugged you back.

So you mumbled a soft, “Mm...love you, Toji,” and snuggled deeper, pressing your cheek against what you thought was polyester stuffing and faux fur.

Morning sunlight spilled across your bed.

You blinked awake, still cradling the plushie close, smiling like a drowsy idiot. “Morning, Toji,” you whispered, eyes still closed as you squeezed him lovingly.

But something felt different.

There was warmth. Real warmth. And it's... moved.

Not in the jostled-by-your-legs kind of way. It shifted, and breathed.

You froze.

Slowly, your eyes opened. The soft, plush figure you remembered? Replaced by someone very tall, very real, and very shirtless—green eyes blinking down at you with an unreadable expression.

Toji Fushiguro was lying in your bed, wrapped around you like you belonged to him.

"...Yo," he rumbled, voice deeper than your phone speaker ever captured.

You screamed. He winced. The plushie in the corner? Still there. But empty.

The universe? Absolutely losing it.

Because you didn’t just get your Toji merch. You got Toji.

And now, the real question is: What the hell happens next?